


spare no expense

by hastra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cohabitation, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:40:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hastra/pseuds/hastra
Summary: Once upon a time, when they still lived in the city, a normal pantry worked just fine. Then again, those were the days when it was just him and Ferdinand. Their friends occasionally stayed with them, of course, but not often enough that he included their diets in his grocery list. Hubert sighed and cursed whichever gods had fated him to this life of quinoa and cookie-flavored cereal.--(Most of) Hubert’s friends treat him like their own personal ATM. He doesn’t mind.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 16
Kudos: 95





	spare no expense

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote nearly 6k words about hubert spending money on other people but i did.

“Hubie!”

A groan rumbled in Hubert’s chest as he was accosted the second he stepped through the threshold into his home. Dorothea followed him down the hall to the kitchen of his and Ferdinand’s — and their parasitic children’s — home, where she at least relieved him of a few of the bags of groceries he’d been carrying and began putting them away.

“How was work?” she asked him.

He grunted as he opened their inappropriately massive fridge and shelved three different non-dairy milk alternatives (soy for Ferdinand, oat for Linhardt, and almond for Dorothea) and dumped a bag of apples into one of the drawers. Hubert himself, like most people, would leave fruit at room-temperature as nature intended, but his dear husband apparently liked his apples like he liked his men: cold. Answering Dorothea’s question, he said, “Fine.”

“I’m so happy to hear that,” Dorothea said in a dubiously sweet tone of voice that left the sincerity of her words up to mystery. She approached the fridge with a grocery bag full of yogurt cups, and Hubert allowed her to neatly stack them in the fridge while he took an armful of bags to the walk-in pantry. Why the fuck did they need a walk-in pantry? Was he Jeff fucking Bezos?

Once upon a time, when they still lived in the city, a normal pantry worked just fine. Then again, those were the days when it was just him and Ferdinand. Their friends occasionally stayed with them, of course, but not often enough that he included their diets in his _grocery list_. Hubert sighed and cursed whichever gods had fated him to this life of quinoa and cookie-flavored cereal.

He tried his best to keep the pantry organized by who ate what; it was easier that way, since it meant less bickering between Dorothea, Linhardt, and Caspar over missing snacks, and less anxiety for Bernadetta, who ate very specific meals per a very specific routine. Hubert and Ferdinand more or less shared food, as neither of them had any particular food preferences aside from Ferdinand’s mild lactose intolerance, but he did make sure to hide a few boxes of Ferdinand’s favorite cookies in the back of one of the shelves. Ferdinand was too chivalrous not to share, of course, but Hubert thought he deserved _something_ that belonged to him only. His husband certainly didn’t fill that role.

“Spit it out already,” Hubert said when he emerged from the pantry and found Dorothea leaning against one of the kitchen counters and eyeing him thoughtfully.

Of the four lodgers in Hubert and Ferdinand’s home, Hubert much preferred the company of Dorothea. She tended to hop back and forth between his home and Edelgard’s, though she’d been spending much more time at Hubert and Ferdinand’s since Edelgard got engaged. At first, he’d found her incredibly irritating, her too-familiar way of speaking to him burdensome and her flirtations vexing. Over time, he grew used to it, and even found it rather charming on occasion.

Dorothea took a deep breath. “I need money.”

Hubert tucked the reusable shopping bags back into their usual cabinet. “How much.”

“$100. For textbooks.”

Hubert raised an eyebrow. He thought it unlikely that her graduate textbooks were _only_ $100, but he figured she must be under-exaggerating due to her embarrassment over having to ask Hubert for funds. It never had been as easy for her as it was for their friends to ask for assistance.

“Very well,” said Hubert. “I will send it along.”

“Thank you, Hubie,” she said quietly but with no little amount of gratitude.

It would be some time before Ferdinand came home, so Hubert decided he may as well start cooking dinner. Dorothea helped chop up some vegetables for a stir fry while Hubert worked on the sauce. Most commercially-sold sauces contained soy, so Linhardt’s allergy meant he had to get creative.

“What’s cooking, Hubes?” Caspar called as he barrelled into the kitchen, Linhardt drifting in behind him. “Smells delicious!”

“Do not call me that.” Hubert scowled at Caspar, who was too busy peering into the wok to notice. “It’s almost ready. Go get Bernadetta.”

Caspar straightened. “Roger!” he said, then bolted out of the room and up the stairs, calling Bernadetta’s name.

Hubert and Dorothea set the table while Linhardt did nothing. It was around then that Ferdinand came home, and despite Hubert’s protests, he helped with the rice.

Dinner went as normal, which meant unadulterated chaos. Caspar flicked grains of rice at Linhardt, who flicked them back, and this turned into a competition of who could flick their rice the farthest. Hubert had to put an end to this before it got out of hand, and Caspar complained very loudly that Edelgard wasn’t as much of a stiff as Hubert. Dorothea heckled Ferdinand just because she could and because he was so easy to rile up. Linhardt told them about his day, which for some reason Hubert didn’t care to know, had been spent at the morgue. The mention of dead bodies made Bernadetta shriek and knock over her Mountain Dew into Caspar’s stir fry. Caspar, to everyone’s distaste, continued eating it.

It was Bernadetta and Caspar’s turn to do the dishes, so when they were finished eating, Hubert pulled out his phone and sent Edelgard a few half-hearted complaints about his housemates. He then remembered Dorothea’s textbook money, and opened up his banking app to transfer it to her account. By now, he’d memorized all of his friends’ routing numbers, so it only took a few minutes to wire the money.

And if he sent her a couple extra hundred dollars, well. She could take that up with the bank.

* * *

“Linhardt. Sothis Christ, is this asshole asleep?”

“He’s been like that since we picked him up, sir.”

“There’s no _bed_ in there. Linhardt!”

Linhardt snored. Hubert cursed again and banged on one of the bars of his cell.

“Let me in there. I’ll wake him up.”

The guard unlocked the cell, and Hubert slinked in like a snake ready to attack. He kicked the bench Linhardt was so peacefully dozing on. “Wake up, you absolute cock.” He lightly smacked Linhardt’s shoulder, then harder when Linhardt didn’t wake up. Hubert’s eye twitched. “I said, wake up! Damn it. Fuck it.” Hubert unholstered his gun.

“Hey, how did you get that through security—”

Linhardt promptly sat up, holding up his hands. “I’m awake! Jeez, fine, Hubert.”

Hubert glared down at Linhardt and re-holstered his weapon. “I knew you weren’t sleeping, you ingrate.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Are you bailing me out of here?”

“Yes, although I haven’t a clue why I bother. Get up.”

Linhardt followed him out of the cell. The guard started to say something, probably about Hubert’s gun, but Hubert silenced him with an “oh shut up, Alois.” Hubert handed Linhardt his bag of effects, which was really just his phone, as they left the station.

“I won’t do this again,” Hubert promised.

Linhardt hummed, not taking his eyes off his newly recovered phone. “Of course you won’t.”

“I have more important things to do than pay your bail.”

“Of course you do.”

“What the fuck were you doing at the morgue, anyway?”

“You don’t want to know.”

He kind of did, actually, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Linhardt. Whatever. Hubert scowled as they walked to his car. Linhardt, as annoying as he was, tended to cause the _least_ trouble for Hubert. Hubert did have some opinions on Linhardt’s laziness, thwarted potential, and overall poor attitude, but at least Linhardt’s propensity for doing absolutely nothing coincided with not doing things that pissed Hubert off. Except for today, apparently.

“So, how _did_ you get your gun past security?”

Hubert scoffed. “Like it’s difficult to fool these Seiros imbeciles. When Ferdinand is mayor, the first thing he’ll do is get rid of them.”

“How fortunate for me.” They got in the sedan; Ferdinand had needed the SUV that day. Linhardt reclined his seat as far back as it would go. “Ah, not as comfortable as the Honda.”

“More comfortable than the GMPD cells, I presume.”

A sleepy grunt. “If you’re that eaten up about it, I can pay you back for getting me out of there.”

“No need. It wasn’t that much anyway.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

* * *

_Ferdinand’s hair feels heavenly between his fingers_ , Hubert thought while Ferdinand napped on the sofa with his head in Hubert’s lap. He’d abandoned reading the project pitch from the Gautier mutt in marketing he was supposed to look over before sending up to Edelgard in favor of basking in the presence of his sleeping husband. Ferdinand’s braid had come apart in his sleep, allowing Hubert to thread his own fingers through Ferdinand’s silky hair.

“Hubert!”

The mentioned man nearly sobbed when Ferdinand startled awake and pulled away from him, but the loss of Ferdinand was quickly replaced by the desire to _wring Caspar’s neck_ when Caspar came stomping down the stairs and into the den.

“What’s the Amazon password?” Caspar asked.

Hubert’s eye twitched. “Not ‘the’ Amazon password. My Amazon password.”

“Yes,” Caspar said, clearly not getting Hubert’s point, “that. What is it?”

It took a great deal of effort, but Hubert managed not to unsheathe the blade he kept hidden by his shin under his pants and lunge at Caspar’s neck. “Capital ‘F,’ Ferdibert0423.”

“Terrible password,” Linhardt said as he passed through to the stairs, a half-eaten Luna bar in his hand.

“See if I buy your fancy fucking oat milk and dairy-and-nut-free yogurt the next time I get groceries,” Hubert snarled.

Only Ferdinand’s hand squeezing his thigh placated him. “It is a very easily guessable password, dear. Think of how many people know our names and our wedding anniversary.”

“It’s about to be two less,” Hubert said darkly.

“Right,” Caspar said cheerfully, already turning around to dart up the stairs after Linhardt. “Well. Thanks dude!”

Hubert could hardly conceal his annoyance when it showed up on his doorstep.

“It’s kind of cute,” Dorothea said, looking it up and down. “It’s smiling, at least?”

“It could be uglier,” Edelgard agreed.

Bernadetta felt differently. As soon as Hubert and Edelgard managed to lift the whole thing out of its box, she shrieked and jumped behind Petra. “Get that thing away from me!”

“It will not be hurting Bernie,” Petra assured her, squaring her shoulders back. “I will not be allowing it.”

“It’s fake,” Edelgard said, “it’s not going to be hurting anybody.”

Hubert couldn’t care less about who it could or couldn’t hurt. “That little prick used _my_ Amazon account, _my_ credit card to buy fucking Halloween decorations?!”

No one had an answer to that; no one could be responsible for the appearance of a five foot wide model of a tarantula with giant googly eyes, a crooked red smile, and a pointy witch’s hat other than Caspar. The thing was truly despicable. Bits of styrofoam from the packing clung to the spider’s hairy legs as well as Hubert’s work pants. Hubert thought he knew murderous intent before — he did not.

“You _did_ give him your Amazon password,” Linhardt said thoughtfully.

Edelgard cocked her head. “Oh, what was it? Ferdinand0423?”

“Close. Ferdibert0423.”

“Ah. That would have been my second guess.”

“It’s fucking July!” Hubert paused, deliberating on exactly how he was going to murder Caspar. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Hey, I think it makes noise,” Dorothea said. She kicked the spider’s body. It cackled.

“Now _that_ is creepy,” Linhardt said. Apparently not creepy enough for him to not try it out himself.

Hubert sensed either a headache or a bloody massacre was coming. “Someone get this thing out of my sight before Ferdie comes home. I need some damn aspirin.”

However, by the time Hubert threw back a couple of aspirins, braced himself against the bathroom counter trying to gather his wits about himself, and returned to his front porch, the thing was decidedly not gone. Instead, his friends had dragged it out into the grass and stood around it, staring at it.

“On second thought,” Edelgard said as Hubert re-approached, “it’s actually pretty hideous.”

“Yeah, I sent a pic to Cas and he said he swears it looked better online,” Linhardt said.

Headlights lit up the driveway, and Hubert gritted his teeth. Ferdinand’s black sedan rolled up and into the garage next to the SUV. “Blast it!”

Hubert almost forgot about the obscene Halloween spider adorning his front lawn when his husband got out of the car and Ferdinand’s tired face came into view. He stalked over to Ferdinand, who readily accepted Hubert’s embrace.

Ferdinand sighed into Hubert’s neck. “What a long day it has been.”

“God, I know.”

“I would like to sit back with a glass of wine and just. Not think for the rest of the night.”

Wouldn’t that be nice. “Anything you want, darling. Why don’t I take you inside, let’s get you changed into some more comfortable clothes.”

Ferdinand hummed in assent, then peeked over Hubert’s shoulder and made a noise of surprise. “What is everyone doing here?”

“Caspar said he’s naming him Geoffrey. With a ‘G,’” Hubert heard Linhardt saying, to which Dorothea said, “That’s a stupid name.”

Irritation gripped Hubert as he tightened his arms around Ferdinand. “Don’t worry about it. They’re just being buffoons as usual.”

“Hubert?” Oh no. Ferdinand was starting to pull away from Hubert. Was a five-foot-long tarantula really that much more compelling than Hubert? “What is that on our lawn?”

Well. There was no point pretending now. “After Caspar asked me for my — ahem — Amazon password, he proceeded to purchase this… adornment.”

He followed Ferdinand back to the spider, where their friends — including Caspar, who they had evidently facetimed from Linhardt’s phone — were arguing over what they should name it.

“Peter Parker wasn’t the spider, he got _bit_ by the spider,” Caspar explained.

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “Who cares who bit whom?”

“I do!”

“Name it Hubert,” Bernadetta said, still cowering behind Petra, “because he’s scary!”

“Hey now,” Edelgard said, coming to Hubert’s defense.

Petra eyed the spider thoughtfully. “I am thinking the spider is more silly than frightening. Therefore, Hubert is not fitting for a name.”

Luckily, Caspar didn’t like the sound of that, either. “We aren’t naming him Hubert.”

“I think Hubert’s a good name for him,” Linhardt drawled.

“Well, it’s not.”

“Lin, Bernie, and I live here too you know, Cas,” Dorothea said. “I think we should name him Hubert.”

“Well, he’s my spider so I get to name him!”

Hubert had heard enough. “Technically, it’s _my_ spider, because I’m the one who paid for it.”

Dorothea stuck her tongue out at Caspar.

“You’re not naming it after me, though, because we’re getting rid of it.”

Now, Dorothea pouted at Hubert.

“What do you think, Ferdinand?” Edelgard asked.

Ferdinand had been uncharacteristically quiet while looking at the spider. That and his unblinking gaze made Hubert worry that Ferdinand was even more exhausted than he let on. He reached out to Ferdinand, fingers grazing his arm. “Ferdie? Are you all right?”

Ferdinand blinked. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but promptly closed it. Then, quiet at first, and gradually growing louder, he started to giggle.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert moved closer, wondering if Ferdinand had caught a fever.

“I think he’s lost it,” Linhardt said under his breath.

To Hubert’s further worry, Ferdinand paid him no mind as his giggling quickly grew out of control. He leaned into Hubert as he laughed, hanging off of Hubert’s arm while their friends looked on in an array of shock, confusion, amusement, and — in Linhardt’s case — mild disinterest. Hubert looked to Edelgard for assistance, but she just shrugged, a smile tugging at her own lips.

“I am not understanding the joke,” Petra said with a frown. Behind her, Bernadetta gaped at Ferdinand.

“Neither,” said Hubert.

They all stood there, Caspar still on the line, while Ferdinand’s laughter quieted down. When he thought Ferdinand was quite finished, Hubert looked down at his husband. “Darling?”

Ferdinand wiped the tears out of his eyes. He sniffed. “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me. It’s just.” He snorted. “It’s wearing a hat!”

Hubert blinked.

“All right. We’re keeping it.”

* * *

Hubert parked the Honda Odyssey in front of GameStop and wondered if it was possible to put adults into the foster system.

He tried to ignore the loud slurping coming from Linhardt and his vanilla bean frappuccino, as well as the gunshots and dubstep coming from whatever stupid game Caspar was playing or watching on his phone, and pulled his black Fodex card out of his wallet. “Here,” he said to Bernadetta, who sat in the passenger seat.

However, instead of taking his credit card, Bernadetta stared up at him, her eyes wide and lip quivering.

Hubert sighed. “Would you like me to come with you?”

Bernadetta nodded vigorously.

“All right. You two.” Hubert turned around and glowered at Caspar and Linhardt. “Behave. This will only take a few minutes.”

Neither of them were listening. Hubert rolled his eyes and got out of the car, and Bernadetta followed him into the store, nearly treading on his heels.

“What are we getting?” he asked.

Bernadetta steered him over to the Nintendo section of the store, then reached around him to point at a game with a few animated characters on the cover called _Fire Emblem: Three Houses_. He picked up a copy. “Is that all?”

“I think so. I mean, yes!”

Hubert heaved a sigh and stalked to the cashier, snatching up a random plushie with a Pokémon tag on it that he didn’t think Bernadetta owned. Unfortunately, they were not the only ones in the store, and were forced to wait behind a young boy and his father, who had far too many questions about whatever he was purchasing. Bored, Hubert glanced at the game he was about to buy. It did seem like something Bernadetta would like, the three characters on the cover young and pretty. A quick skim of the back cover told him it was some kind of war simulator. It made him snort. Kids and their violent games these days.

“I can help you right over here,” the cashier said when the boy and his father left.

Hubert tossed the game and the plushie onto the counter, then, after a moment’s deliberation, added a couple Snickers bars.

“Did you find everything you were looking for?” the cashier, whose name tag read IGNATZ, asked.

“I suppose so.” Hubert slapped his credit card on the counter and very intentionally did _not_ make eye contact with the scantily-clad anime girls on Ignatz’s shirt.

Ignatz peeked at Bernadetta, who was hiding behind Hubert’s tall frame. “Hi there.”

Narrowing his eyes, Hubert shifted to hide Bernadetta again. “Don’t speak to her.”

“Oh. Alright. Do you have a membership with us?”

“No,” said Hubert.

“Would you—”

“Absolutely not.”

Hubert was certain he’d been signed up for a membership at some point, especially considering how much money he’d spent on Bernadetta and occasionally Dorothea at this establishment, but he thought the quicker he could get this Ignatz out of his sight, the better.

He didn’t even check the total. He didn’t care. His nails clicked against the counter as he tapped his fingers, scribbled out a poor bastardization of his signature on the receipt, and left with the bag of merchandise.

To his relief, the interior of his car was still intact. Caspar and Linhardt cheered when he threw the candy bars at them.

“What game did you get?” Caspar asked Bernadetta around a mouthful of Snickers.

“Fire Emblem,” Bernadetta said, showing him the game. “And Hubert got me a Popplio!”

Hubert assumed “Popplio” was the silly circus seal plushie he’d bought.

“Fire Emblem? Never heard of it,” Caspar said.

“That’s because you only play Fortnite,” said Linhardt.

“Hey! That’s not true! I also play Neopets.”

Cue argument in which Caspar and Linhardt bickered over whether or not Neopets counted as a video game. For the hundredth time that day, Hubert sighed.

* * *

Hubert did not unwind very often.

As Edelgard’s direct underling, Hubert carried the not-small responsibility of reviewing everything that came through Edelgard’s office. He took the task of lightening Edelgard’s massive workload incredibly seriously, as a result liaising with the department heads even more than she did. He frequently brought his work home to finish in his home office, much to Ferdinand’s displeasure.

When Edelgard or Ferdinand had the free time, he preferred to be with them; but as it were, Ferdinand was working a rather late night at the DA’s office, and Hubert had been seeing quite a lot of Edelgard as of late, deciding to just allow her to enjoy the night with her fiancée. This is what prompted him to seek out company he didn’t usually entertain.

“Mercedes,” he greeted as she joined him and Petra at the Black Eagle restaurant.

Mercedes giggled when Petra pulled out a chair for her — a courtly gesture she had learned from Ferdinand, most likely. “Why thank you, Petra. Good evening, Hubert.”

Hubert waved over a server so they could order drinks: white wine for the women, and seltzer water for himself, as he had to drive. While the three of them pondered the dinner menu, they chatted, first about their respective jobs, then about the most recent public Fraldarius-Gautier spat, which had taken place almost entirely on LinkedIn, to Hubert’s endless entertainment. It wasn’t until their meals arrived that the topic of Hubert’s marriage came up.

“Oh, you and Ferdinand have a big anniversary next year, don’t you?” Mercedes leaned over the table, chin propped up on her clasped hands. “Can you believe it’s been almost five years?”

“I cannot,” Hubert conceded. “It feels rather like twenty.”

“Are you planning anything for celebration?” Petra asked.

Hubert made a noise of assent. “I think we will be going away for a while. Just the two of us.” Oh, how they needed it.

Mercedes nodded. “A good, romantic vacation will be very healing for both of you.”

“I wholeheartedly agree.”

“And I hear you’ve taken up quite a few housemates. I’m sure it will be nice to be just the two of you.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

The twinkle in her eye suggested she did, in fact, know the half of it, and perhaps a little more.

While it had been quite a while since he and Ferdinand had spent a significant amount of time with just each other for company, he wasn’t particularly bothered by their current lifestyle. For as much as he complained about their friends, they weren’t too burdensome. Linhardt and Bernadetta kept to themselves, Dorothea kept to Edelgard, and Caspar — well. Caspar was a little annoying. But so was Ferdinand, and Hubert married him, so clearly “annoying” wasn’t too high on his list of grievances.

“I’m paying, ladies,” Hubert said when their evening came to an end, shooing both of their cards away with his hand and very assertively returning the billfold to their server.

Petra and Mercedes both began complaining. “Oh, Hubert, you don’t have to do that!” Mercedes cried.

“Hush, Mercedes. I won’t have it any other way.” He turned back to the server. “Take it.”

“It is no problem for me to be paying,” Petra said, frowning at him after their flustered server left with Hubert’s card.

“I’m sure it’s not. However, it would be in poor fashion not to finance an outing arranged by myself.”

Mercedes smiled. “Well, thank you for your generosity, Hubert.”

“I am grateful,” Petra agreed.

Hubert escorted them out to their ride share. He’d originally insisted on driving them home, but they both lived on the other side of the city, and were adamant that Hubert had already done enough for them by paying for their meals. He jotted down their driver’s license number on his phone and bid them both a good night, standing by the curb until the car drove out of sight.

* * *

The garish assortment of cakes before Hubert was revolting, but he pushed his disgust aside and tried to be objective. “I don’t think either of them will be very fond of these.” He prodded at a yellow cake with purple roses made out of icing that was far too sweet. A shudder rolled through him at the thought of how much sugar lay before him, but he trudged on, for Edelgard. “Do you have anything, er… red?”

“Like red velvet, sir?”

Hubert frowned. “I don’t see what Korean pop music has to do with cake.”

The baker looked puzzled. “It’s a flavor of cake, sir.”

Next to Hubert, Ferdinand could barely contain his laughter, the way his shoulders shook. Hubert scowled at him, then told the baker, “That will be fine.”

When she disappeared to grab another sample, Ferdinand finished off the cake on Hubert’s plate. “I didn’t even know you knew who Red Velvet were.”

Hubert huffed and drew his handkerchief to wipe away a smudge of purple frosting from the corner of Ferdinand’s mouth. “You’ve been listening to them while you get ready for work.”

Ferdinand seemed pleased that Hubert had noticed this small detail. “That I have. Ah, thank you, this looks delicious.” Ferdinand accepted a piece of _red velvet_ cake from the baker and immediately took a bite. “Oh, yes. This will do just well, could you dye the frosting red? I think that will please one of the brides very much. Hubert, would you like to try?”

He did not want to try, but Ferdinand was already extending a forkful of cake toward Hubert’s mouth. Hubert felt his cheeks grow hot as he allowed himself to be fed, especially in other company. Hubert swallowed.

“Do you like it?”

Hubert could have been fed his own bile and he wouldn’t have noticed. He cleared his throat. “It—yes, it is acceptable.”

“I think I liked the cake we had at our wedding better.”

“That was not a cake, that was an event. It occupied its own zip code.”

Ferdinand grinned and said to the baker, “He’s very charming, isn’t he?”

They ended up ordering the red velvet, with red and gold frosting. It would be three tiers, against Ferdinand’s initial insistence for five, like the one at his and Hubert’s wedding. It’s a _wedding_ , Ferdinand had reasoned, not a gala. Hubert had no idea what he meant by that. Hubert also had to veto the literal 24k gold cake toppers, saying _no_ , Ferdinand, Edelgard will not appreciate the frivolous display of luxury. However, Ferdinand _was_ able to sway Hubert on topping the cake with a silver, scaled-down replica of the Hresvelg family heirloom, a medieval axe called Amyr. At least that was more tasteful and relevant than a pair of golden lesbians.

The baker told him the price. Hubert nodded. “Very well,” he said, drawing his checkbook out of his coat and penning in the amount.

It was already five years ago that Hubert had stood in this very same spot — well, not the same bakery, but he had stood in _a_ bakery and written out a check for an equally expensive wedding cake that Ferdinand had chosen. It was three hours of Ferdinand trying what seemed like an endless amount of cake, more cake than Hubert thought existed, before Ferdinand had finally settled on something: A five-tier lemon poppyseed cake to be adorned with real gladioluses in an array of colors. Hubert had been surprised to find he didn’t despise the sweet-and-sour taste, though he supposed he would enjoy anything he tasted on Ferdinand’s lips.

To Hubert’s embarrassment and their friends’ delight, Ferdinand had insisted on feeding each other their first bites of cake at the reception. Hubert hadn’t cried at the ceremony (although Ferdinand shed a few discreet tears), but for some reason, seeing the absolute joy on Ferdinand’s face as he hand-fed Hubert a bite of cake nearly brought him to tears. Their friends would joyfully remind him of this small fact every so often for the next three years.

On their way out, Hubert texted Edelgard to let her know they had picked a cake. Edelgard was at Lysithea’s studio for her first dress fitting. Hubert and Ferdinand were to meet her there, along with Dorothea, Petra, and unfortunately, Sylvain Gautier.

“What’s up, Ferdinand?” Sylvain clapped Ferdinand on the shoulder, earning a startled grunt from Ferdinand. He nodded to Hubert. “Hubert.”

Hubert nodded back. “Stain in my periphery.”

“I love it when you call me mean names. Do it again, I’m close.”

“Shut up, Sylvain,” Dorothea said, then gasped. “Oh, Edie, it’s breathtaking!”

Edelgard emerged from behind a heavy violet curtain in what could only be described as a gown, crimson red and fitting tight around her torso then billowing away from her legs. The light caught the shimmering, golden detailing on the bust and the skirt. She turned around, revealing a heart-shaped cutout that showed off her back muscles. She wore a red cape fastened to her shoulders with gold buttons and a gold trim that grazed the floor.

Their friends’ reactions ranged from bright smiles (Petra) to gasps of glee (Dorothea and Ferdinand) to inappropriate wolf whistling (Sylvain).

The girls were the first to speak. “You are looking gorgeous, Edelgard,” Petra said.

“I think we can take another half an inch out at the waist,” Lysithea said, pinching at the fabric, “and make a few small alterations in a couple other places. Nothing significant, unless you have any suggestions.”

“I think it’s perfect,” Dorothea gushed.

“You look great,” Sylvain said. “Byleth will be _all_ over you.”

Ferdinand, the dramatic fool, bowed and said, “You look truly beautiful, Edelgard. I mean that from the bottom of my heart.”

Edelgard thanked them, blushing, then turned her attention to Hubert. “Hubert? What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought he could cry. Maybe he already was, or maybe he wasn’t, and he was imagining this. “It… I truly am at a loss for words. You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen.”

Edelgard smiled brilliantly at him. She pulled him into a tight hug and whispered into his chest, “Thank you Hubert.”

His voice cracked as he said, “It should be me thanking you for being granted the privilege of walking you down the aisle.”

The room felt a little too stuffy when Hubert adjusted his tie and handed the clerk his card. He dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief before addressing Lysithea. “Your best work, Ordelia.”

* * *

_Hilda V. Goneril sent an invoice for $2,XXX.XX,_ the notification read. _“rent_ ” was the only word in the notes.

Hubert rolled his eyes. Of course Hilda would skip the pleasantries and get straight to the point. He opened his banking app and transferred her the money, ignoring the near-immediate _thank you, Hubie!_ text that popped up. He locked his phone and dropped it facedown onto the nightstand, not to be touched until the morning.

Ferdinand’s nighttime routine had been incredibly involved as of late, which meant Hubert typically spent over half an hour lounging in bed by himself while Ferdinand went through Dorothea’s dozen-step skincare regimen. Hubert thought Ferdinand’s skin looked fine with just a nightly rinse and moisturizer, but apparently Dorothea thought different. On the other hand, it had been Hubert who convinced Ferdinand to start taking better care of his hair, so he supposed it only made sense that Ferdinand would eventually extend the same sentiment to his skin.

By the time Ferdinand joined Hubert in bed, Hubert was close to dozing off. He felt Ferdinand press himself against Hubert’s side and allowed him to tangle their fingers together with a content smile.

Hubert stroked his thumb over the back of Ferdinand’s hand. “Did you have a good day?”

“It was all right, but it is now. And yourself?”

“Apart from dealing with the four demons with whom we cohabitate, I suppose it was very well.” Hubert sighed. “If this is what being a parent is like, god help us if we have children of our own.”

Ferdinand laughed. “You’re just getting early practice in, dear.”

“Well, I’d rather not,” Hubert said, though he didn’t quite think he meant it.

“You like providing,” Ferdinand teased, poking Hubert’s chest.

Hubert hummed in neither denial nor assent. “I derive satisfaction from being useful.”

“Hm, you know what I derive satisfaction from?” Ferdinand slung a leg over Hubert’s hips. “Your—”

“Hubert!”

“Sothis fucking Christ,” Hubert hissed. He glared at the bedroom door and sincerely wished whoever was on the other side would perish in the eternal flames. “Go. Away.”

Ferdinand huffed a laugh. “Is it an emergency?” he called out to Caspar.

Frankly, Hubert didn’t care if there was an emergency. He didn’t even care if someone was dying. On the contrary, he hoped they were.

Linhardt’s voice came through the door. “The toilet’s smoking.”

“The—it’s _what_?” Hubert wanted to bang his head against a very hard wall. Unfortunately, no one was dying, and the toilet was a matter that concerned himself and (more importantly) Ferdinand. “Fine. Fine!”

Ferdinand rolled off of him. “Hurry back!”

The toilet was not, in fact, smoking, but the wall socket by the sink _was_. He handled it as swiftly as he could, but it still took almost forty-five minutes to fix the socket and stop the toilet from flooding. Caspar and Bernadetta tried to be helpful, but ultimately Hubert had to tell them both to get out of his way.

By the time he got back to bed, Ferdinand had already fallen asleep. Though Ferdinand was a deep sleeper, Hubert tried not to jostle the bed too much as he settled in behind him. He knew Ferdinand hadn’t been getting much sleep with the District Attorney re-elections approaching, especially since he’d declined Hubert’s offer to take care of his opponent. While Hubert lamented the lost time with Ferdinand, he was tremendously proud of his achievements at such a young age. After Ferdinand’s re-election, Hubert should treat him to something nice. Something more than just a nice dinner. Maybe a new car, or a new kitchen, or a horse. Maybe even a new wedding ring.

Whatever it was, it had to be expensive.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter @CLSPHOBLC  
> curiouscat @hattrems
> 
> :]


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